


Space to Breathe

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Comfort, Episode Related, F/M, First Time, Porn, Psychological Trauma, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: Pike shook it off, looking to Michael, present with her in the room once again. "So I suppose I called you here to say...you went through a trauma, Michael. It's okay not to be okay. And I'm here to talk, if you want."Michael opened her mouth, ready to dismiss it, too real. Instead what came out was: "He told me he wasgrateful. I destroyed his humanity and he said—" Michael broke off, looking away, her eyes stinging.





	Space to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> The show has a habit of traumatizing people and then marching right along, so I figured, let's interrogate some of that. Plus, I've never been able to wrap my mind around Pike's reaction to Vina. Here's an attempt. Set after 2.08 "If Memory Serves" and going AU from there. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1029763.html).

Michael walked into the ready room to find Pike at the window behind his desk, a small glass in hand, collar unbuttoned, space blazing out behind him. That was...unusual. 

"You wanted to see me, sir?" 

He turned to face her and smiled, something pained lurking at the edges of it. "Yes. I'm sorry it's so late."

"No need to apologize, sir. I'm at your discretion."

Something flickered in Pike's face at that, so fast Michael couldn't track it. But then it was gone and he was looking at her with a soft expression, one she didn't understand. "I read your report." He nodded to the PADD sitting on his desk.

Michael frowned. "Was there a problem with it?"

Pike huffed a slight laugh, but it was bitter. "No, your work is impeccable as always."

Michael wasn't sure what she was sensing here. "I don't understand."

"Of all the people who will eventually read that report, I'm the only one who's experienced Talosian hospitality firsthand." Chris smiled, but there was no light in it. Just pain. "I know how to read between the lines." He seemed to retreat into his own thoughts then, going quiet and still.

Michael waited him out, understanding this was about his own unease as much as anything else. He needed to process. Then his goal would become clear. 

After a few long breaths, Pike looked up. "You said in your report that the price of saving Spock was a memory. Knowing the Talosians, it can't have been a happy one. After all of our talks, and given your...strain with Spock, I suppose I wanted to check—I thought it important to." Pike paused, looking away and shaking the awkwardness off. Then he looked back to her, his gaze probing. "How are you?"

Michael opened her mouth to shrug it off, to tell him she was fine, her standard procedure. The look in his eyes stopped her, something knowing and sympathetic, like he _got it_. Like she was safe here. 

Michael shut her mouth and swallowed, her throat going tight. She shook her head. "I have no idea how to answer that."

Pike nodded, taking that in. He moved closer, setting the glass down on his desk, contemplative. "After I got back from Talos, for weeks I kept waking up in a cold sweat, my throat raw from screaming, the memory of being burned alive feeling so real I couldn't understand why my skin didn't hurt."

Michael blanched, horror seeping into her. She'd had no idea.

Pike continued, lost in his own thoughts now. "It took several months and one very good counselor to make me realize something: I had been through a trauma. And even if it ultimately changed my perspective in a positive way, that didn't negate the trauma. Merely complicated it."

Pike shook it off, looking to Michael, present with her in the room once again. "So I suppose I called you here to say...you went through a trauma, Michael. It's okay not to be okay. And I'm here to talk, if you want."

Michael opened her mouth, ready to dismiss it, too real. Instead what came out was: "He told me he was _grateful_. I destroyed his humanity and he said—" Michael broke off, looking away, her eyes stinging. She was horrified, at herself for getting emotional in front of her captain, at Spock for thinking any of what she'd done had been _good_. Michael blinked at the tears threatening to spill over. 

Suddenly Pike was there, pulling her against him, strong arms wrapping around her, his warmth enveloping her. Michael tensed for a moment, but then she fell into it, burying her face in his chest, hiding as the tears slipped out.

"Oh, Michael," Pike murmured against her hair, holding her close. She felt the words rumble through his chest, his heart beating, steady and strong against her ear. An overwhelming feeling of safety swamped her, like here, now, nothing could touch her. 

Michael had _never_ been held like this. She didn't know why everything felt less awful, just by a degree, but that degree mattered. She didn't understand. 

Pike ran a hand down her back, soothing. "Your brother is brilliant and talented and a total dick sometimes." 

Michael huffed out a laugh, marveling at the way his hands gentled her, calmed her. Her relationship with Spock was in tatters, everything was terrible...and it didn't feel like an utter disaster as it had not so long ago.

_How_ was he doing this?

"It is his way," Michael said into Pike's chest, getting a tiny laugh from him in response. 

Pike pulled back, taking his warmth away, but when she met his eyes, it was there, reflected back at her. 

He held onto her shoulders, his strength so comforting she almost wanted to sway into him. "I may not know all the details, but I certainly know all the players. I'm here, Michael. You need me, come find me."

Michael nodded, wiping at her eyes, smiling a little. "Thank you, sir."

Pike nodded, once, then dropped his hands. Michael stepped back, the chill sweeping in once again, but she ignored it, nodding respectfully to him before taking her leave. 

***

That night, Michael tossed and turned, trying to turn her brain off, to no avail. Every time she closed her eyes, she flashed to that horrible night, when she _broke_ her little brother, _stop following me you weird little half-breed_ echoing over and over. She felt cold. Alone.

No matter how much she tried, she couldn't sleep. 

***

She hid her exhaustion from everyone, focusing on the task at hand: poring over the red angel file with Spock, looking for some reason why he was chosen. It couldn't just be random. 

It was the one thing they could agree on. With no new data and the hours slipping by, frustration started to leak through, Spock making it very clear that he found it all to be a waste of time. 

Finally, at the end of the day, he turned to her, absolutely nothing in his eyes. "Stop," he said simply.

Michael gestured to their red angel screen, the rest of Engineering quiet given the late hour. "The captain asked us to—"

"I know what the captain directed us to do. I'm telling you to stop everything else. Stop looking at me with your pleading eyes. Stop trying to prove that you're a good person. Just stop."

Michael bristled, spine going stiff as the pain of it slammed into her once more. "Why don't you stop making it about yourself."

"I would be delighted, but that depends on you pulling yourself out of all your _feelings_ ," he said, derisive. "I know you want absolution; you are not going to get it. So just stop. This behavior is embarrassing for you," he added, insult to injury. 

She shook her head a little, breathing out. "I'd say it's time for a break."

"Finally, something useful from you."

Michael narrowed her eyes. "We'll reconvene in the morning." And with that, she strode out, keeping her gait even and head high until she entered an empty turbolift.

As the doors closed, she sagged against the wall, the hurt crashing down. Her brother hated her and there was nothing she could _do_. 

***

Michael's gait was less steady as she walked into the ready room, spotting Pike by his bar cart, already pouring himself a drink. She beelined toward him, even as he turned, nodding in greeting. "Burnham."

She didn't return it, simply kept moving until she was in his space, further, Michael walking right up and burying her face in chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, wanting that respite again. Wanting everything to be less terrible, even if it was just for a moment. 

Pike sighed, but it seemed understanding. He brought his arms around her, squeezing tight. "Michael..."

His warmth enveloped her, that sense of comfort spreading at nothing more than his solid presence, the hand he stroked down her back, then up again. 

After a few moments just holding her, he shifted. "Spock?" he guessed, voice low. 

Michael took a shuddering breath. "Spock," she confirmed. 

He didn't say anything after that, stroking her back, soothing. It was so exactly what she needed her eyes started to sting. 

She was so tired. 

"Come on. Let's sit down," he murmured, nudging her toward the couch. 

Michael followed his lead, curling up against him after he sat down, her head on his chest. He held her like that, not speaking, just rubbing her back, until the hurt pushed back a little. Enough. 

Finally, Michael took a breath. "He knows why I did what I did, but he...he won't forgive me. It's like he's punishing me..." she murmured into his chest. 

Pike made a contemplative noise. "That doesn't sound like the Spock I know."

"Yeah," she agreed. 

"He might just need time. He seems...frustrated that he can't figure out why the red angel picked him."

Michael swallowed, fingering his jacket, dark thoughts swirling in her head. "Do you think—" She cut herself off, not wanting to open that door. 

Pike made a curious noise and nudged her, projecting openness without even speaking. 

"Do you think you can hurt someone so terribly that it truly is unforgivable?" she asked, voice low. 

Pike took a breath and let it out slowly, silence gone thoughtful. "I believe in evil," he said eventually. "But beyond that, intention matters. I may not know the details, but I have a hard time believing that you could do anything so far outside your nature."

It warmed her, that faith, but his regard couldn't make up for the gaping hole left in her by Spock's derision. 

Michael had nothing to say to that, so she didn't. She just sat, leaning against him, his hand moving over her back, rhythmic and soothing. Michael breathed into it, relaxing against him by degrees.

Eventually she sat up, quirking her lips at him. "Thank you."

Pike half-smiled in response, sympathy in his eyes. "Any time."

Michael nodded and got to her feet, one last appreciative look, before she headed out the door. 

All the while wondering: why wasn't this weird?

***

One night of no sleep was manageable. She had gone about her day as usual with none the wiser. 

After two nights, Michael could feel it. She was a half-step behind where she normally would be. No one else picked up on it, but she knew. 

She also knew that to let it get worse...well, that couldn't happen. Her work was too important. Spock was looking over her shoulder at every moment, judging her silently. Or not so silently. She couldn't falter.

So she relented and went to Dr. Pollard.

Pollard frowned at her, concerned. "I can give you a sleep aid, but it won't put you into the kind of sleep you truly need and it won't resolve the issue."

"I'll take the stopgap," Michael said evenly. Because what else could she say? Absent erasing her memories of that horrible night, she didn't know how to fix this. 

Pollard frowned but gave her the hypospray.

***

The hypospray put her to sleep, but it was restless, plagued by nightmares of that young Spock, so innocent and naïve, crushed by the one person who should have supported him. _I don't want a freak like you as a brother_ careened through her mind. _You're not worth my effort._

Michael gasped awake in the early morning, Tilly kneeling by her bed, having shaken her awake. Her hair was a mess, but she was looking at _Michael_ with concern. "Michael." Her voice was breathless, worried. 

"What? Is there an emergency?" Michael looked around, but there was no sound or sign of red alert. 

"No. You were crying," Tilly said, both a weight and a question in it. 

Michael reached up to her cheek and found Tilly was right: she could still feel the tear tracks on her face. She scrubbed at them quickly, ruthlessly quashing the voice in her head echoing, _you will always be cold and distant_.

"Are you—are you okay?" Tilly asked, hesitant. 

"It was just a bad dream. Nothing I can't handle," Michael said, smiling tightly. 

Tilly didn't look convinced, but nodded and went back to her own bed.

Michael settled on her side, facing away from Tilly, eyes wide and alert, desperately pushing away the memories, so insistently repeating in her head. _I don't want you in my life_.

***

Michael stopped using the hypospray after that. 

She still couldn't sleep.

***

"Burnham, hang back, would you?" Pike asked as the morning briefing broke, the others filing out as usual. 

Michael lingered, feeling slow, her whole body throbbing after four days of no sleep to speak of. Her head pounded, so far past tired she couldn't even remember what it felt like to be rested anymore. 

Once the others had cleared out, Pike stared at her, naked concern in his eyes. "You look like hell," he said bluntly.

Michael half-smiled. "You say the sweetest things."

Pike didn't take up the levity as he normally would, a fact that in itself betrayed his worry. "Seriously, Michael. You're hollow, like your mind isn't really here. What's going on?"

"Nothing I can't handle, sir," Michael said stiffly. She'd have to be better about hiding it. 

Pike's expression softened, going understanding. "Is it the dreams?" he asked, quiet.

Michael blinked, surprised, and given her state, of course Pike clocked it. He nodded slowly, such incredible sympathy in his eyes. "I had them. I _have_ them," he said, bitter. "I thought I'd put that behind me, but it turns out, even just a little Talosian projection is enough to put me right back in that headspace."

His tone of voice struck her and Michael looked closer, realizing that Pike didn't look so good either. There were shadows under his eyes, tiredness in the line of his shoulders. She hadn't noticed because she'd been so focused on herself. And here he was, admitting to his own weakness. Acknowledging it was okay to do so. 

What was it he'd said? He'd been through Talosian hospitality, too. He understood. 

Something in her cracked open. "It's—I just stare at the ceiling," she offered, voice a little unsteady. 

"You can't get it out of your mind, stuck in your worst moments," he confirmed, nodding once. "I get it." 

Michael's eyes stung, some kind of relief filling her. Knowing that it wasn't just her...it was something. "How did you get it to stop?" she asked, a shade desperate. 

He shook his head then, a little lost himself. "I wish I had an answer for you. Talking about it. Time. Realizing that the past is the past and you're not at their mercy anymore."

Michael frowned as the disappointment landed heavy. None of that helped with her immediate problem. 

Pike seemed to read that. He tilted his head at her, conveying some kind of remorse. "Like I said, I haven't been doing much sleeping myself. If you want, you can join me, we can talk. Or not talk. It might help to not feel so alone."

Michael considered that, then slowly nodded. "I might take you up on that, sir."

***

0148 had her staring at her ceiling again, so Michael finally sighed and accepted defeat. She kept doing the same thing and it kept failing. She might as well try something different.

So she stole past a sleeping Tilly and out of the room, heading through the quiet halls to the captain's quarters. Seeking him out so late felt...weird, intimate, but she was also so far past tired that she couldn't quite catalogue everything she was feeling. 

She pressed the door chime and the doors opened almost immediately. He was clearly awake. 

Michael stepped inside to find a room much homier than she expected. Everything was in neutral colors, burnished copper pieces giving some interesting highlights, the throws and rugs scattered around making it feel lived-in. 

Pike was reading on the couch, wearing a soft long-sleeved sleep shirt and half-covered in one of the throws—tan with some kind of southwestern design on it. He looked up from his PADD, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, a pained welcome. He hadn't even been close to sleep. "Michael," he said, nodding. 

"Sir." She nodded back, not sure what she was supposed to do. 

"Call me Chris when we're off duty," he offered.

"Right. Chris," she said deliberately, the name settling in. 

"Come in, take a load off," he said, nodding her toward the other end of the couch and the other half of his throw. 

Michael shuffled over, kicking off her boots and curling up, pulling the throw over her lap, sighing. Pike—Chris, she reminded herself, something within her wanting to sink into that name—looked at her, curious. "Did you want to talk? Or there's another PADD in there," he offered, gesturing to the little table nearby.

Michael imagined talking about that night, relaying what she'd said to Spock—saying _stop following me you weird little half-breed_ out loud, seeing it land on Chris—and a deep well of shame slammed into her. She didn't want to think about it. 

She didn't want him to know. 

"Reading sounds good." She dug the PADD out, scanning through the library as Chris nodded and went back to his own reading, his breathing deep and even. Something about it was comforting, even in the silence. He couldn't sleep either. He was right there with her. 

Michael selected a novel and settled in. He'd been right. She didn't feel so alone. 

***

Michael startled awake, muscles seizing, a crick in her neck. 

She looked around wildly...and then recognized the throw, its southwestern design pinging in her brain. That belonged to Chris. 

As did the couch she still sat on, the quarters she was still in. She'd apparently fallen asleep reading. Chris had, too, curled up at the other end, their socked feet touching underneath the throw shared between them. 

Something about that shivered through her. It was so...intimate. 

Michael pulled her feet back, swallowing. She looked to the PADD she'd dropped to the couch, noting the time. From what she remembered, she maybe got three hours of sleep. But running such a deficit, that three hours _mattered_. The terrible ache everywhere had lessened. 

Knowing she wouldn't fall asleep again, Michael put on her shoes and covered Chris fully with the throw. She hoped he slept until whatever alarm he'd invariably set woke him. He needed the rest. 

***

Chris smiled before the start of the morning briefing and stepped to her, pitching his voice low. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"A little, thank you," she said. "You?" He looked a little better, the shadows under his eyes blunted. 

"Enough." He studied her, a worried air still heavy around him. "You're always welcome, Michael."

Then Saru cleared his throat and the meeting began.

***

Michael had hoped that falling asleep on the couch had knocked something loose, retrained her body in how to sleep. 

No such luck. She spent the next night staring at the ceiling, her own voice screaming in her head— _I don't want you in my life_ —her anxiety mounting. What the hell was wrong with her? Why had she nodded off in the captain's quarters, yet here, where her body expected sleep, she had nothing?

It eluded her. 

***

She was a zombie the next day. A few hours in six days wasn't enough, not even close, and Michael _hurt_. It was worse than before and compounding that...she didn't know how this ended. 

As if that weren't bad enough, others seemed to notice. Tilly frowned at her, uncharacteristically silent. Chris kept shooting her worried looks. Even Spock eased up on his scathing criticism. Maybe kicking her when she was down was a bridge too far for him. 

When she found herself tossing and turning yet again, the voices swamping her— _I don't want a freak like you as a brother—_ she gave in rather quickly. Anything to not feel this. 

Chris granted entrance immediately and she found him in the exact same spot on the couch, wearing another soft shirt and flannel pants. "It didn't take, huh?" Chris asked, tone sympathetic. 

Michael shook her head. "For either of us, it seems." She removed her shoes and sat on the couch, finding the PADD she had left still there. She was puzzled by the whys of it, but the exhaustion was too thick to parse.

"Is it just the nightmares keeping you up?" Chris asked, tentative, like he was wary of broaching the subject, but wanted to offer her the chance to talk. 

"I keep seeing flashes of the night I...broke Spock," she admitted, quiet. "I can't get it out of my head. It's like it keeps happening over and over. It won't _let_ me sleep."

Chris nodded in sympathy. "Sometimes I have flashes of things and I wonder if they really happened or if they came from the nightmares after. Although I suppose it doesn't make much difference, in the end," he muttered. 

"Brains are great," Michael commiserated, getting a flash of a half-smile. Then Chris turned back to his PADD, Michael turned to hers, and the stillness settled around them. 

She would take some stillness.

***

Michael woke on a gasp, confusion rushing in. The room around her was dark and she seemed to be under covers in an unfamiliar bed. It smelled comforting, though, some kind of recognition tickling the back of her mind. She made a muzzy, curious noise—

And someone moved beside her. "It's okay, Michael," Chris' voice came from the darkness, low. "You fell asleep."

Michael settled, reassurance sweeping through her. She made some acknowledging noise and instinctively rolled toward his voice, his warmth. She nuzzled into his chest, a wall of _safe safe safe_ sweeping through her, and then she knew no more. 

***

The next time Michael woke, she knew where she was. The room was still dark, but it felt later, and Chris was nowhere to be seen. 

"Computer, time," Michael muttered, her voice cracking. 

The computer chirped and replied, "Current time: 1628."

Michael sat straight up in bed. She'd slept until the _afternoon_? She hurried out of bed, thoughts racing—she'd missed her shift. She'd _never_ missed her shift. It set a _terrible_ example. Saru would be so disappointed. Spock would never let her live it down. 

She hurried out to the common area, looking for her shoes—

And found a tray of food waiting for her on the table, a PADD bearing a note beside it. Michael picked it up to read:

_You seemed like you needed the sleep, so I'm giving you a personal day. Captain's orders. You're welcome to stay. I should be back by 1800. Regardless, get some rest._

Michael set the PADD down, exhaling slowly as she realized that she wasn't shirking her duties, after all. On the heels of that thought, Michael blinked. Her mind felt clear. Her body didn't hurt anymore. She _had_ gotten some rest.

...and then she remembered how and sudden _heat_ flushed through her. Chris must have carried her to bed after she'd fallen asleep, but she'd woken up and instead of doing the respectable thing and leaving, she'd crawled into her captain's arms and fallen asleep again. 

She should've left. Why hadn't she left? Even though she was half out of her mind with exhaustion, enough to sleep until the late afternoon, she could have. She _should_ have. 

It hadn't even crossed her mind. Instead she'd sought out his warmth, the comfort of his arms, and went dead to the world again. 

She didn't know how to feel about that. 

She didn't stay to see what he had to say about it. 

***

"Where _were_ you?" Tilly asked, rushing into their quarters, worried. "I know the captain said you took a personal day, but you weren't here when I woke up in the middle of the night and you've been seriously out of it." 

Michael swallowed, hating that Tilly knew that. Her attempts to hide her struggles had been very poor, indeed. She tried to smile, putting reassurance into her look. "I'm sorry I worried you. But I'm okay now."

Tilly took her in, clearly judging for herself, and whatever she saw must have passed muster because she nodded, accepting that. But then she furrowed her brow, blue eyes still concerned. "Okay, but really, where were you?"

Michael hesitated, not quite knowing how to answer that. The real answer could easily be...misconstrued.

Tilly read her hesitance and her gaze went penetrating, disbelief there now. "Michael. Are you seeing someone?"

"No!" Michael said instantly, then felt guilty about it. But why would she feel guilty? It was the truth. "No, I just stayed over with a friend."

"What friend? I know all your friends and none of them had a clue," she pressed. 

Michael closed her eyes; this was one of the few things she hated about being on a ship. Everybody was always up in everyone else's business. "Please, just trust me."

The lines around her eyes creased unhappily, but Tilly nodded, letting it go. "As long as you're okay..."

"I'm good, I promise."

***

She was less good at 0212 when she once again couldn't sleep. It wasn't that her internal clock was off; her body _felt_ tired. Her brain just wouldn't let her rest. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the look on Spock's little face as he argued his humanity with her, Michael spitting back at him, crushing his spirit— _you will always be cold and distant_. 

Michael pressed her hands against her eyes, hard, trying to shove the images away. She just wanted to sleep.

***

Chris took one look at her the next morning and frowned. He tilted his head, silent understanding and an invitation in one, and Michael let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. 

***

As 0125 rolled around, Michael realized that while she could suffer through this until it got bad enough that she passed out for a whole day, she didn't want to. Not when she had another option. 

***

Michael walked to his door, surprised when it opened for her automatically, no need to ring for entrance. Chris must have authorized his door system to admit her...but why would he do that?

Hesitant, she stepped inside the darkened quarters, not wanting to wake him. 

"It's okay, Michael," he said, low in the darkness, but it carried. "Computer, one quarter lights."

The lights came up a little and Michael stepped toward the bedroom doorway, watching as he sat up and rubbed his eyes, his soft gray shirt pulling, half-revealing a collarbone. 

Michael tried not to stare. "I'm sorry to wake you," she said, remorse sweeping through her. Before she hadn't really been intruding; he'd already been awake. This was something else. 

Chris held up a hand, belaying that. "I could only go half-under." He studied her, sympathetic. "You, too?"

"Not even. I thought maybe..." Michael she trailed off. She thought what? She'd come crawl into bed with him? There was no way to say that without sounding improper. 

Chris seemed to get it, pulling back the covers, a wordless invite. Michael's mind was too tired to parse it, so she didn't, kicking off her shoes, pulling off her jacket, and climbing under the covers. The bed smelled familiar. It smelled like him. 

"Computer, cancel lights," Chris called out. The room dimmed again, darkness covering them. 

Michael was glad. It somehow made it easier to shift closer to him, that familiar comfort washing over her, settling warm and close. 

Chris turned toward her a little, inviting, and Michael rolled into him, resting her head on his chest, her cheek pressing to the softness of his sleep shirt, breathing him in. _Safe_. 

Then she was out. 

***

This time when she woke, Chris was still there. Even before she opened her eyes, she could _feel_ it, the bed dipping with the weight of another body, his soft breaths in and out. 

She was facing away, but she could feel him behind her, their shared warmth turning the bed into a little haven. 

Michael didn't understand this. She'd _never_ shared a bed with anyone, not beyond a few instances of exhausted, post-coital sleep. It made no sense that her mind wouldn't let her find peace in her own bed, in that familiar environment, and yet it did here, somewhere new, with someone else present. Was she just reacting to the newness of it, the lack of preconceived notions? Or was it something else? _Someone_ else. 

She turned over to look at Chris, relaxed and peaceful in sleep. He had none of the usual weight to him here. This really was just _Chris_ , the man, free of the burdens of command. 

Something about it made her inexplicably glad.

Then Chris breathed _in_ , making a small noise as he woke.

Michael watched his eyes flutter open and focus on her, the corners of his mouth quirking up. She couldn't help but return that smile, amazed at how awkward this _didn't_ feel.

"Morning," he said finally, scrubbing a hand over his face. This close, Michael could see a hint of stubble over his jaw, that detail somehow unbearably intimate. 

"Morning," she returned, a little shaken, though she couldn't say why. Especially not when she felt rested again. 

"You slept?" he asked, more of a confirmation, really, but Michael nodded. 

"Thanks," she said. "And sorry I woke you again."

Chris shot her a quelling look, gentle. "I said you're welcome here and I mean it, Michael. I danced with this alone. This is better, trust me." He shook his head, clearly thinking back on a bad time. Then he sighed. "But we probably should get up." He tossed the covers aside and sat up, running a hand through his unruly hair, and Michael just couldn't fathom it—

Why wasn't this weird?

***

"Okay, spill," Tilly said, dropping into the mess hall chair across from her, Michael pausing with a bite of eggs in mid-air. 

Tilly didn't need to elaborate. They both knew what she meant. 

Michael set her bite down, squaring her shoulders. "I know I've been slipping away—"

"Out of bed. _In the middle of the night_ ," Tilly reiterated, thankfully keeping her voice low. "You say you're not seeing anyone—"

"I'm not."

Tilly looked at her, dubious, but made a little go-ahead gesture, allowing Michael to explain. 

Michael sighed. "Like I told you, like you saw, I can't sleep. So I...go somewhere else to try," she offered, reluctant to get into just where and with who. 

Tilly abruptly covered Michael's hands with her own, forcing Michael to meet her eyes. "Okay, I have questions, but I'm warning you now, if you lie to me, I'm gonna be able to tell. I have that power," she insisted, studying Michael's face. "So. Are you doing anything that could be dangerous?"

" _No_ ," Michael said, a little incensed. She wouldn't. She didn't even know what that _meant_.

"Is this anything I would be worried about?" Tilly pressed, still eyeing her. 

"No," Michael breathed, truthfully. Tilly would be many things—delighted, intrigued, suggestive—but worried was not one of them. 

Tilly frowned, confused. "So why are you being all shifty and weird?"

"I don't want to—I can't—it's private," Michael settled on, pleading with her eyes for Tilly to understand. Truthfully, she didn't know why, but she didn't want the outside world intruding on...whatever it was. Not yet. 

Tilly took her hands back, nodding. "Okay, I—well, you know I'm dying to know, but I respect that. Just tell me if any of those answers change?"

This time, it was Michael who reached out, squeezing Tilly's hand. "Thank you."

***

That night she didn't even bother trying to go to sleep in her own quarters; after she ate dinner she went straight to Chris'.

Like before, the doors opened for her automatically. Michael found him on the couch, already wearing the soft flannel pants and long-sleeved shirts he preferred to sleep in, PADD in hand. But this time he wasn't reading; he was staring off into the distance, seeing something she couldn't. And it wasn't a happy picture. 

"Hey," she said, startling him out of it. 

He smiled, tight. "Hey, yourself."

Michael walked over and sat in her usual spot, noticing his distraction, the tension in his jaw. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Chris looked up at her, blue eyes pained. "You know...I actually do."

"Please," she invited, just to make it clear that the offer went both ways. He'd mentioned being burned alive on Talos. It had to be hard to keep that kind of pain to yourself, to always project the strength necessary to lead. 

Chris shook his head a little, some kind of self-recrimination in his eyes. "I've thought a lot about my time on Talos. I told you about the counselor. She helped me...understand. Process. But seeing Vina again..." He trailed off, troubled. 

"It brought back the bad memories?" Michael asked, kind. 

"Every time they're in my head, I lose myself," he said, voice shaking a little. "Vina admitted she wasn't the person I thought she was, she was _right_ , and yet in that moment, seeing her again, I was convinced that it was all true. That I felt something for her."

Michael's eyes widened, taken aback. She'd thought he was troubled by some form of physical torture. This...she didn't understand. 

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to the Talosian projection, her conversation with Chris to get him to bring the _Discovery_ to Talos. He'd had Vina's face in his hands, something _intimate_ about his touch. She'd had so many other things going on, she hadn't really thought about it. 

She was thinking about it now. 

"Were you...in a relationship with her?" Michael couldn't picture it, Chris falling for the Vina she'd experienced, someone who embraced the illusory over the real. 

"No. Well, not for lack of trying on her part," he said, a dry note to his voice. Then he tried to explain: "On our first visit, the Talosians, they wanted to keep me, to...feed off my mental energy. So they used Vina to...to tempt me."

"What do you mean, 'tempt?'" she asked, chilled. 

Chris' eyes were far away, back in some past nightmare. "Vina offered to be anything I wanted—a content Mojave housewife, an Orion slave girl, anything. And part of me _was_ tempted, I was so...broken..." he trailed off, horror in his voice. 

Michael felt it echo within her, alarmed at such a...personal violation. But she kept her voice even, reasonable: "It was a manipulation."

"But I knew that. And still some part of me—" Chris shook his head. "She wasn't even a real person. She was brainwashed, some blank slate for me to project onto, and I _knew that_." Chris ran his hand over his mouth, visibly shaken. "That's bad enough, and I've wrestled with it, but to see her again and fall right back into that dynamic..."

"It's clearly part of the illusion," Michael soothed. "They make you think you care for her."

Chris met her eyes, something haunted in them. "Or is that the kind of man I really am? Give me a beautiful woman promising to make herself into what I want and I...I _want_." Disgust rolled over his expression, directed inward. "Who would want that?"

Michael scooted closer, taking hold of his hand. He looked up, blue eyes startled, like he couldn't imagine she would want to touch him. Michael held his gaze, sympathetic. "They offered you anything your heart desired and you still turned them down. That's what matters."

"I let them use her like that and I still left her there," he said, failure thick in his voice.

"From what I saw, she doesn't want to leave. She likes the life they give her."

Chris scoffed. "They've been addling her brain for decades. How could she possibly make that choice for herself?"

Michael shook her head a little, understanding the gray area of it. "You can't want to save her more than she wants to save herself." 

It wasn't lost on Michael that the thing that haunted him was his _perceived_ moral failing, even when he'd done all the right things. He lay awake at night, punished by the idea that even he was human, even he was flawed. It was so...him. 

Eventually, he nodded, though his anguish didn't diminish. "...I know."

Michael let the quiet overtake them then, just sitting with him, holding his hand. Hopefully, it was enough. 

Eventually, Chris breathed in, rousing himself from his thoughts. He still looked haunted, but it was somehow...less. He nodded to her, gratitude around his eyes. 

Michael nodded back, squeezing his hand. 

Then Chris turned to the room, like he just now realized they were still sitting on the couch. "It's late. We should turn in."

Michael nodded, releasing his hand as they both stood. Chris dropped the throw on the couch, frowning as he took her in. "You don't have to sleep in your uniform, you know. Get something comfortable from the replicator. The bottom drawer is empty, feel free to claim it."

It was matter-of-fact, simple logistics, and Michael once again marveled that absolutely nothing about this felt strange or awkward. It just was. She nodded, moving to the replicator as he went into the bedroom. 

She specified her usual sleep clothes—a comfortable pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt—then changed into them in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. It wasn't an accident now. Or drop-dead exhaustion. This was premeditated, sharing a bed with him because she wanted to, not out of stark need. She should feel some way about that...but she didn't. It was like most of her emotions were in some sort of cocoon and she couldn't access them directly. 

But since Chris didn't seem to have a problem with it...she just went with it. 

Michael exited the bathroom, finding that he'd lowered the lights. She stowed her uniform in said empty drawer and padded over to the bed, slipping into it silently. 

Chris breathed in, murmuring, "Computer, cancel lights" as Michael pulled the covers over her, that sense of relief slamming down onto her. 

She was asleep before she even had the chance to turn over. 

***

Michael jerked awake, awareness startling through her. Something had woken her. 

Then she heard it—a tiny whimper, distressed. Chris faced her, still asleep, but it clearly wasn't peaceful. His face was twisted in something like pain, curled around himself protectively, jerking every once in a while at whatever dream held him in its grip. 

As he made another distressed noise, Michael corrected herself: not a dream, a nightmare. 

She moved closer, shushing him, covering his clenched fists with her hands. Chris startled awake instantly, body tensing. 

"It's okay," she soothed. "You were having a nightmare."

Chris' body relaxed as he nodded, but Michael could still feel the faint tremors running through him. She ran soothing hands over his arm, settling closer to him. He tensed again, briefly, before allowing it, dropping his head to her shoulder, letting her curl her arms around him, stroking light fingers over his back in soothing patterns. After long moments, he stilled, calming. 

A kind of hypnotic soothing settled over her, like the act of comforting him comforted her. She didn't understand it, but as she slipped unconscious, all she knew was the base satisfaction rolling through her. 

Then she knew nothing at all. 

***

Michael woke up still curled around him. She didn't move, just sighed, taking in the contentment settled around her. It wasn't something she'd felt often.

Chris pulled his head back from her shoulder to blink hazy eyes at her, but she could see the glint of relief there, something a little lighter. Unburdened. "Thanks," he said, low. He nodded to the two of them. "I think this helped."

"I'm glad," Michael said, equally low. 

And as they separated and got up, it still wasn't weird. 

***

Michael thought about the look in his eyes the whole day. Relieved. Unburdened. 

She wanted that. 

***

Michael kept shooting glances at Chris, ensconced on the other end of the couch, reading. She wrestled with what to do; she could talk to him about everything with Spock. He'd trusted her. She could do the same. 

Eventually, she looked over to find him already watching her. Michael flushed at getting caught, but he just looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. "You okay?"

Michael shrugged. "Even though I can sleep here...I still—I can't get it out of my mind."

Chris nodded, like that made sense. "I'm all ears," he offered, no pressure to his tone.

It was tempting. She could just lay it all out there like he'd done, let someone else see all the ugliness, offer a new perspective, maybe.

Or he could recoil, his sense of decency horrified by what she'd done. 

That thought made a tiny part of Michael curl up in fear. She already had Spock looking at her so coldly. She didn't know if she could handle more of it. "...I'm worried what you'll think," she finally admitted.

Chris' brow furrowed, like that disappointed him a little, though he was trying to overcome it. "I know who you are," he said, firm. 

Michael smiled at the sentiment...but something within her still shrank back. 

"Maybe another time."

***

"This is a waste of time," Spock reiterated, anger behind the evenness of his voice. 

"So you've said. Repeatedly," Michael shot back, not needing to point out what a waste of time _that_ was. 

Spock heard it, eyes narrowing. "We've been over each of these incidents multiple times. I wasn't present for these red angel sightings. My perspective offers nothing new."

"The unconscious mind catalogues things we don't consciously know. If you take another look, something might connect to your visions in a way you don't expect."

"Expecting something new from questions already asked and answered is as logical as expecting blood from a stone."

Michael smiled at his way of insulting her, thin. "Lovely simile. Can we get back to it now?"

Spock stood. "No." With that, he turned and walked toward the Engineering exit. 

"Where are you going?" Michael called after him, frustrated.

"Somewhere worth my effort," he shot back, making Michael wince. _You're not worth my effort_ echoed through her mind, Spock's parting shot hitting its target. 

And then he was gone. 

***

Michael read her PADD, but she didn't even see the words, her argument with Spock repeating on a loop in her mind. The one from today, not their childhood. 

There were so many to keep track of. 

Finally, Michael set the PADD aside, sighing. 

It got Chris' attention. He tilted his head at her, an invitation. And Michael thought... _screw it_. That little curl of fear still lived in her gut, but it was now overwhelmed by frustration and...hurt. She had no protection against Spock; every jab of his _hurt_. 

She didn't want to hurt this much. 

So she turned toward Chris, frowning, but forging ahead. "I told you that Spock and I don't have a relationship because of me," she started, voice low. Chris nodded. "That's—that's the memory the Talosians wanted to see."

"You...breaking off your relationship?" Chris clarified. 

Michael nodded. "Because of my presence, the threats from the logic extremists had escalated. So I decided to run away. If I wasn't there, my family would be safe. But Spock, he found me, he wanted to come. I had to...I had to _make_ him leave me alone." Michael's eyes filled, thinking of that night. She shook her head, part of her not wanting to continue. 

Chris reached for her hand, making a comforting noise. "It's okay, Michael."

"You don't get it. It's _not_. I said _horrible_ things," she said, her throat hurting. "I called him a freak, a weird little half-breed. I told him I didn't want him in my life. I dismissed his humanity, his capacity for love, calling him nothing but a cold Vulcan. And so that's what he became."

The tears finally slipped out, Chris squeezing her hand. "Michael..."

"No. It's my fault. He had this precious spark of humanity...and I snuffed it out. He'd already spent his whole life being looked down on by other Vulcans, but that night? That night I became worse than them." Michael shook her head. "He was my _brother_..." Michael trailed off, pulling away from Chris and covering face, more tears falling.

Chris moved, pulling her against him, wrapping his arms around her as she cried. He just held her, hand moving up and down her back, soothing, but never trying to quiet her.

Michael shook against his chest, everything in her wishing she could go back and do it all over, to never hurt that precious child. To never _break_ him. 

She'd been such a fool. A stupid, foolish _child_ who thought she knew better. And look what it got her. 

Eventually her tears dried up. Michael pulled away from Chris, wiping her eyes, almost hesitant to meet his. But she did anyway, needing to know. 

His gaze only held sympathy and understanding, not the recrimination she'd feared. Michael let out a breath. "That's—that's what the Talosians wanted to see," she finished. "My finest hour."

Chris nodded, like that tracked with what he knew of them. "I'm sorry they put you through that."

Michael shrugged. "If that's the price of saving Spock's life..."

"But it didn't have to be. That was their choice." Michael shrugged again, which seemed to land on Chris, making him go careful. "Michael...you didn't deserve to experience this pain again."

She swallowed, smiling bitterly. "It pales in comparison to what I put Spock through."

Chris looked stricken at the implication. "But you don't need to be punished for it."

"Don't I," she said, not a question, looking away. 

Chris grabbed her hand again, getting her attention, his eyes earnest. "You were a child who had lost her parents to violence and you didn't want it to happen again. You were a young girl in a lot of pain, trying to protect the people you loved. Yes, you made a mistake, but that girl doesn't deserve our condemnation; she deserves our empathy."

Something inside Michael trembled, wanting so much to believe him, but... "I think Spock would disagree with you."

Chris sighed. "I don't pretend to understand the inner workings of Spock's mind, but I do know he cares for you."

Michael swallowed, knowing how love so easily turned into hate. It wasn't worth dwelling on.

Then Chris took a breath, hesitant, but diving in anyway. "You've been focused on how you hurt Spock, but you hurt yourself, too." Michael just blinked, so Chris continued: "You severed your relationship with the brother you loved that night. And you've spent the last twenty years paying for it."

Michael frowned. She hadn't thought of it in those terms, so focused on the pain she'd inflicted, the pain Spock reflected back at her every day. "I...my feelings are hardly the priority."

Chris winced, but he wasn't surprised, like he'd expected that answer. "Look, only Spock can offer forgiveness for hurting him. But you can offer forgiveness, too. You can forgive yourself for doing a terrible thing with the noblest of intentions."

Michael didn't even know where to start with that, so she turned it around on him: "You realize that's ironic in the extreme coming from a man who berates himself for just thinking about doing the wrong thing."

The corners of Chris' lips quirked. "I do. Doesn't make it any less true." His eyes softened again, pleading. "Ease up on yourself, Michael. You're not the monster you think."

***

She lay awake longer that night, his words running through her mind. He was talking about acceptance, about making peace with what she'd done. But could she? 

Eventually, his even breaths lulled her to sleep. 

***

The next morning, Michael woke slowly, her legs tangled warmly with Chris'. She sighed and stared at the ceiling, seeing things a little more clearly now. She didn't feel magically better, like all was well. But then, she didn't feel like she was an irredeemable villain, either. She'd said awful things out of grief-stricken love. She'd hurt Spock, deeply. She regretted it, apologized for it, and tried to make amends. She was doing what she could. 

At the same time, she recognized what she was feeling. It wasn't muddy and distant as it had been, overcome by exhaustion or denial. She _felt_.

It was something. 

***

The next two nights they were quieter with each other, retreating to their respective reading, no heavy emotional talk. 

But still it was...peaceful. A new kind of ease between them. 

***

"I feel like I never see you anymore," Tilly said at lunch, picking at her salad. 

Michael looked up from her veggie wrap, raising a dubious eyebrow. "I see you literally every day."

"I know, but...I miss you," Tilly said, looking at Michael with a small smile. "It's quiet without you."

"Yes, because I make such noise." She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. The wrap needed more sprouts. She could never get the replicator to do it right. 

"Your presence looms large, don't even try to deny it." At Michael's smile, Tilly went serious, leaning forward. "How are you sleeping, anyway?"

Michael shrugged. "I am, so that's something." Ever since she'd accepted her arrangement with Chris, her sleep had been mostly undisturbed. Huddled together, the two of them kept those nightmare flashes at bay, for which she was grateful. 

"You should come back to our room and try again. Maybe you're better," Tilly suggested, a little hopeful, popping a cucumber into her mouth. "You need a control, you know this."

Something within Michael went cold. "Right, of course. I'll do that tonight," she agreed slowly, watching as Tilly's face lit up. 

" _Yes_. Girl's night!" she enthused, her feet jiggling, making the whole table shake. 

Michael pressed her hands against the table, halting its vibration. "To sleep," she insisted. 

"Whatever, you know you miss our nighttime chats," Tilly waved away, blasé. 

Michael smiled, but something inside her...retreated. Tilly was wholly correct; she did need to test out how her sleeping was progressing. She couldn't sleep in the captain's bed forever. 

So why did her mind trip over the idea?

***

After the midday briefing broke, Michael stayed back to talk to Chris at his desk. "Tilly is feeling abandoned," she said, dry. 

Chris seemed amused as he set his PADD aside. "Is she now?"

"I'm going to stay with her tonight, see how I do on my own."

Something clenched in his jaw, but it was instantly gone, Chris nodding in agreement. "That's a good idea. It will let us both see where we are."

Michael nodded, forcing a smile from somewhere. "Great. Then it's settled."

Why didn't anything feel settled?

***

Tilly snored lightly, Michael taking it in, fond. She really did miss her friend. 

It was her last thought for a long while.

***

Michael started awake, finding Tilly watching her from her own bed, practically vibrating. Her bright curls were unruly, giving her a kind of manic look.

Seeing that she was awake, Tilly clapped. "You slept!" she crowed, like this was some victory. 

Disoriented, Michael rubbed her eyes, trying to get her bearings. She...she _had_ slept, totally normal, no nightmares or flashes keeping her awake.

"I knew it," Tilly was babbling. "I knew you'd get back to your old self. This stuff just takes time."

Michael sat up, holding up a quelling hand. "Whoa, Tilly. I appreciate the confidence, but this doesn't mean things are all better."

Tilly instantly deflated. "Wait, you didn't sleep?" she asked, concerned. 

"No, I did, but it was restless," Michael lied, not even sure why she was doing it. 

Especially not when the light faded further from Tilly's eyes. "Oh."

"But I got a little sleep," Michael amended, regretful now. Why was she lying? This should be a good thing. Everything could go back to the way it was. But why did that thought send a chill through her? It was what she'd wanted. 

"Yes, and that is great. Progress!" Tilly crowed, going positive again, ray of sunshine that she was. "You can't expect these things to go away completely overnight. Duh."

Michael smiled and nodded, but it was distracted. Why did she feel so terrible about how she felt rested and refreshed? 

What was wrong with her?

***

"You okay?" Chris asked, peering at her from the other end of the couch, not exactly troubled, but seeming...aware. 

How he always picked up on things remained a mystery to her.

"I'm fine," she said with a nod, hoping he didn't see past it to her unease. What was she doing here? Chris hadn't even asked. He'd simply accepted her appearance with a welcome smile and gone back to his reading. But as her little experiment had shown, she didn't need to be here to sleep. So why was she? 

Yes, being here was comforting and safe, but it was always based on _need_. She'd needed him, before. Something about this arrangement gave her the space to sleep, to recover. And now she didn't need that anymore. But here she was. 

Chris eyed her dubiously, making it clear that her subterfuge had been less than successful. So she tilted her head at him. "Am I imposing?"

He blinked, taken aback. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm here every night. I'm sure you have...other things you could be doing." And it was just now occurring to her that he did; he could be having...a social life or even just bonding with the crew or, really, doing anything else. And instead he was here, with her.

A faint air of amusement swept over him, lips quirking. "What do you imagine I do with my time?"

"I have no idea," she said honestly. "But I do know that I'm consuming some of it and it occurred to me that I hadn't...well, I hadn't asked if that was okay."

"I did offer," he pointed out.

"That was a while ago and I doubt you imagined all this," Michael said, waving a hand between them to encompass...everything. "I wouldn't want to...keep you. From things."

Chris look at her, soft. He reached out, squeezing a hand around her ankle through the throw. "You're not. I like having you here. And if it helps both of us, why not?"

Michael smiled tightly and nodded, turning back to her PADD. 

He asked a rhetorical why not, but all Michael could keep wondering was... _why_?

***

Michael woke earlier than she normally did, not sure what pulled her from sleep. Behind her, Chris breathed even and deep, still under. The thought made her smile. She turned over to look at him—

And froze. She was _wet_. 

Her heart rate kicked up as she shifted a little, that telltale slickness between her thighs, her internal muscles fluttering and yeah, that was definitely—

Michael's eyes landed on Chris, still sleeping, a surge of _feeling_ rushing through her. The respect and comfort and safety were always there, but now her body felt...hot and open and—

She shut that down immediately. It was _completely inappropriate_ and not the reason they were here and—

She stilled. She'd wondered why. Why she still wanted to be here when the need for it was done. That original need, anyway. And now...something else had taken its place. Something buzzing under her skin, _wanting_ , and she'd felt this way before, only it ended in _disaster_. 

Michael shook a little as she sat up. It roused Chris, who made a curious noise at her movement. "I'm going to breakfast with Tilly," she murmured, watching as he nodded and settled again. 

Shaken by that trust, she stood. She needed to go.

***

Michael walked into their quarters to find Tilly just getting ready for the day, putting her hair up into a bun, eyes widening at seeing Michael. "Hey, stranger."

"Remember when I said I was staying over with a friend?" Michael asked, still not recovered from the shock of her waking, but knowing she needed advice. 

"Yeah, I generally take notice when you totally dodge me like that," Tilly shot back. 

"It's the captain."

Tilly's eyes widened. "You're sleeping with the captain?"

"No!" Michael said instantly. Then she reconsidered. "Not...like that. We're sleeping together, but not—it's not sexual."

Tilly's eyes narrowed as she tried to parse that. "So you're sleeping in the same bed in a totally non-sexual way." Michael didn't know if she'd go that far after how she woke up this morning...but did she need to get into that?

"I couldn't sleep," Michael said, trying to explain. "I'd just lie awake, night after night. But then with him, I could. I don't know why. It's just sleep," she insisted. 

Tilly studied her, perceptive. "But now you want something more."

Michael didn't deny it, which was as good as a confirmation for Tilly. "I lied yesterday," she confessed. "I slept fine here. But I went back to him anyway."

Tilly's expression said that meant something to her, but oddly, she went sympathetic. "Yeah, that makes sense. You and he have always had something going under the surface. And now you don't want to ruin your dynamic by pushing too far, so you feel stuck," she guessed. 

Gratitude swept through Michael, not for the first time. She was lucky to have Tilly in her life. 

"What do I do?"

"I have absolutely no idea," she said, flat. 

"Tilly."

She raised quelling hands, apologetic. "No, I'm being serious. I mean, I'd make a pass at him, but that's me. I just brazen my way through things. I don't know if you want to play it that way." She looked to Michael, biting her lip uncertainly. 

Michael swallowed, not knowing if she even could. "Yeah," she agreed. 

"I guess you have to decide what's more important to you: keeping things the way they are or going for something better."

"And potentially getting something worse," Michael concluded. 

Tilly nodded. "Yeah. It's about what you want, Michael."

If only she knew. 

***

Even with her doubts, and the new awareness running through her body, Michael kept to the routine, spending the evening with him, settling in bed beside him. Now that she knew why she was there, it felt like a whole new thing. Her interest heightened everything—the way the light caught his eyes when he flashed a smile at her, the softness of his gray sleep shirt, the way the bed smelled not like him, but _them_ now. 

She _wanted_ this. Even if it was inappropriate. Even if it came out of pain and trauma and sadness. He made her feel good. And yes, it had started with him pushing back the tide of awful, giving her a little bubble of safety in which to rest, but now his presence was just...good. And she wanted. 

But she didn't know what to _do_.

***

She breathed in, consciousness dawning slowly, everything warm and content. Chris was curled around her from behind, his arm heavy over her waist, lips resting at the nape of her neck. Every time he breathed, she felt a little puff of air against her skin. 

She also felt his erection pressing against her ass. 

Michael knew it didn't mean anything; it was an automatic bodily reaction to REM sleep. That didn't keep the frisson of lust from streaking through her, lighting her up. 

She should put some distance between them, for propriety's sake. 

She stayed exactly where she was, heart pounding, body waking up to the fact that it _wanted_. 

Moments later, Chris stirred, his arm flexing over her, a content rumble sounding low in his throat. But then true awareness returned, making him realize he was hard and pressed against her...and he stilled. He started to pull away—

And Michael grabbed his arm, holding him in place. She turned her head so she could half-see him, his face still so close. He had a faintly embarrassed air about him that made Michael's lips quirk. She leaned into him harder, pressing herself against him as she craned her head back, bringing her mouth to his. 

It was an awkward angle for a kiss, but Chris still made a helpless noise against her, leaning up so he could kiss her back, their mouths sliding against each other and catching. Relief swept through Michael as she fell into it, kissing him harder, one hand moving to his face. She opened her mouth against his, licking at his bottom lip, and like that, the kiss was real, Chris pulling her close, licking into her mouth, heat searing through her. 

Michael broke the kiss and turned quickly, getting a hand on his chin as she leaned down for him, their mouths opening against each other, _want_ making every part of her body pulse. 

She pushed Chris back, climbing on top of him as she followed his mouth down, kissing deep and wet. She wanted his mouth on her, clothes gone, she wanted to feel him hard against her, skin to skin. Michael bit his bottom lip, grinding against him— 

And Chris turned his head, panting out, "Okay, okay, hang on—"

Michael nibbled down his jaw, getting a groan, but he pressed gentle hands to her hips as he slipped out from underneath her, putting some space between them, taking all his delicious heat away. She grunted at the loss. 

Chris cleared his throat and shook his head a little. "I think we should table that for now."

"Why?" she asked, voice rough enough to make his eyes widen, then go dark.

He looked away, swallowing thickly, visibly controlling himself. When he looked back, he'd pushed past the desire, something soft in his eyes. "I didn't expect this. I'd like to take some time to process."

It doused the insistent heat within Michael. She scooted back, uncertainty flitting through her. He'd...he'd kissed her back. That meant something, right?

Like he could read her thoughts, he reached out. "Hey," he said, running the back of his hand along her cheek. "That's not a 'no.' It's a 'gimme time.' Let's talk tonight."

Michael took his hand, clasping it with her own. She nodded. "Okay."

***

Waiting was awful. Michael was restless, distracted. Her skin was sensitized, everything in her aware and wanting. But at the same time, her gut would go cold, something fluttering in her chest at the idea that he might not reciprocate. 

Seeing Chris was a kind of torture. He was completely unaffected, tossing off orders and jokes, same as always. Unfazed. 

Michael didn't know what that meant, especially not with the way she wanted to buzz out of her skin. 

This couldn't all be her. 

...could it?

***

Chris was on the couch, drink in hand, when she arrived, but he was still in uniform. Official and correct. 

Michael tried not to read too much into it, especially when he looked at her and smiled, welcome in his eyes. "Michael."

She smiled back, inclining her head. "Chris."

He gestured her to the couch, raising his glass in offer. Michael shook her head as she took a seat. 

Then they just looked at each other for a long moment. Despite the day's uncertainty, she still wanted to crawl over there and climb on top of him. Even if he was about to say they couldn't have that. 

"I didn't do any of this to sleep with you," he said, like he wanted that clear. 

Michael blinked, thrown. "You wouldn't."

He looked a little relieved at that, like it had been weighing on him. But still he didn't move, reticence in his eyes. 

"That isn't your only concern," she concluded. 

Chris tilted his head, frowning slightly. "I needed to take some time to consider if my reaction was just me trying to prove a point to myself."

Michael shook her head, not following. Chris half-smiled, unhappy. "Everything with Vina, thinking I felt something for her even though she's not a real person to me. Was I just reaching for you to prove to myself I'm not that guy?"

Fondness swept through Michael, completely unexpected. He was so hard on himself, in ways that went beyond reason. "And are you?" she asked, already knowing the answer. 

"No," he breathed, staring at her, something pained in his eyes. "I want you because I want _you_."

Michael nodded, starting to move closer—

Chris held up a hand, staying her. "I worry that—I just don't want." He stopped, like he was frustrated he didn't know how to put this into words. "You've been going through a hard time. I've tried to be supportive. My concern is that some signals got crossed or—I don't want you to feel...obligated—" 

"You think I'm confused?" she asked, surprised. 

Chris winced. "Whatever the non-condescending version of that is."

"Good luck finding it."

He winced again, like that reaction was what he'd feared. Michael sighed and took his hand, his wide eyes rising to meet hers. "Yes, it's been difficult. Yes, you've been there for me. No, this is not gratitude. Or whatever else you're afraid of."

He laced his fingers with hers, the wariness still in his eyes. "It feels like I'm...taking advantage of an intimacy that was forged out of something else," he said, a little helpless with it. 

"You're not taking advantage of me," she reassured him, dry. "If anything, it's the other way around. Tell me, Chris, do you feel exploited here?"

"No," he breathed. "But I am reeling a little bit. I didn't expect this."

Michael softened, bringing her free hand up to ghost over his cheekbone. "If it helps, it surprised me, too. You snuck under my skin." Michael tilted her head. "But to your main point, intimacy is intimacy. Is the how important if it's what we both want?"

"Is it?" he asked, his gaze boring into hers. "What you want."

Michael brought their hands up to her mouth, eyes on his as she kissed his knuckles, open-mouthed. "Yes, please," she breathed. 

Something flickered in his eyes and he tugged sharply on their joined hands, catching her as she swayed into him, their mouths meeting, fierce and hot, a burst of _yes_ slamming through her. 

Michael finally gave in and crawled into his lap. She pressed herself against him, moaning as he explored her mouth, reticence gone like it had never existed, his tongue tangling with hers, making everything tingle. 

She pulled her hands away from him and tugged at her own shoes, shoving them to the floor. Then she bowed her body away from his, their mouths still connected, Michael unzipping her jacket and struggling out of it. 

Chris made a curious noise and pulled back, which gave Michael the opportunity to pull her undershirt up and off, before ducking back in to nip at his mouth. He groaned as his hands landed on the skin of her back, light fingertips stroking there. "Michael..."

"You're wearing too many clothes," she said into his mouth as she unzipped his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. She scooted back, breathing hard as she tugged at his undershirt, Chris helping to pull it up and fling it away. 

Then she pressed against him again, hands exploring all the skin in display—over the muscles in his arms and shoulders, down to scratch through the hair on his chest. He was all bunched muscle, coiled tight, and he moaned at her exploration, his own hands shaking against her skin. 

It took him two tries to unclasp her bra, something she found inexplicably charming, and she broke their kiss to let him tug it off her, leaning back with a little smirk, arching as his eyes took her in, wide and glassy. Chris made a hungry noise and leaned forward, sucking a nipple into his mouth. 

Michael gasped at the sparks that slid up her spine. She ground against him where he was hard and wanting through his uniform pants, and it got an answering gasp, Chris breaking away from her breast to pant against her mouth. "We should..." He looked behind her to the bedroom. 

"Right here," Michael corrected, circling her hips against him, making his eyes flutter closed in lust. 

Then her words seemed to register. He grabbed her hips, stilling them, finding her eyes. "You want to have sex on the couch," he clarified. 

"Just like this," she muttered, reaching up to roll her own nipple, gasping at the touch. "Objections?"

Chris blinked a few times, then shook himself. "Nope, I'm good with that."

Michael huffed a laugh and then pushed his hands off her so she could stand and work at her pants. "Yours, too," she ordered, nodding for him to get a move on, rather than staring at her like he'd been struck dumb by lust. 

She pushed off her pants and underwear in one fell swoop, kicking them away, only to find that Chris had barely gotten his undone before he'd been distracted again. He stared at her, eyes wide. "You're gorgeous," he breathed, sending a flush of warmth through her. 

Michael decided that was good enough, he needed to be inside her _now_. She kissed him and crawled back onto his lap, ignoring how his fingers roamed over her skin, sending tantalizing bursts of heat through her. Instead she got a hand inside his pants, palming the hot length of him.

Chris broke their kiss on a choked gasp, not expecting it. 

Michael didn't give him time to recover. She stroked him once, slowly, getting a growled " _Michael_ ," in warning. So she relented and drew him out, stroking again, taking in the silky skin over firm flesh.

"You feel good," she murmured against his mouth, kissing him. 

Chris groaned and gripped his hands tight on her thighs. "This is not how I imagined today going," he said, ragged. 

"Dream bigger," she said with a smile against his mouth before pressing closer, lining him up with where she was so wet and open, and unceremoniously sinking down onto him, relishing the stretch. 

"Fuck," he muttered, staring at her, pupils blown, as she took him all the way inside. When he was as deep as he could go, she made a satisfied noise in the back of her throat and kissed him, lush and wet. 

Something in him _snapped_ , Chris hauling her up and dropping her back onto him, Michael throwing her head back with a gasp as everything in her pulled tight. And then it all went hazy and hot, Chris fucking her onto him, dropping kisses from her mouth to breasts to stomach, filling her just perfectly, hitting a spot inside her every time that made her clutch at him, pleasure coiling high inside her. 

Michael made noise, panting and moaning against him, so _wet_ , muscles fluttering around him as sweat broke out everywhere. " _Chris_ ," she called, desperate. 

Chris pressed trembling fingers against her slick folds and then she was _done_ , crying out, shaking around him as the orgasm swept through her, blanking her mind to anything but the ecstasy he wrung out of her. 

Awareness filtered back slowly, Michael panting against his shoulder, sweat slick between them. 

Sweat and other things. Michael clenched around him and Chris groaned, nuzzling her ear. She pulled her head up, finding his mouth again, the kiss slow and sated, Michael realizing she'd missed his orgasm.

Next time. Next time she'd pay closer attention. 

Chris cradled her cheek, still panting a little, flushed. "That what you wanted?" he murmured against her mouth, a pleased tinge to his voice. 

Michael tightened around him again, wringing another delicious groan from him, nipping at his mouth. "It's a start."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, this probably makes the end of "The Menagerie" a horror rather than a mercy, but oh, well, Michael should save Pike anyway.


End file.
